


Hello Stranger

by Kiwi25



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-08
Updated: 2011-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-15 12:37:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiwi25/pseuds/Kiwi25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two couples – four people – love – broken hearts – betrayal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Adaptation of the movie 'Closer' using the Trek 2009 characters. Present - day AU.

_I._  

 

It was a seedy bar on the Westside of the city. Tucked away in a shaded corner of the street and accentuated by a sign with lights that had burned out two decades before. The whine of the jukebox could be heard before Spock’s hand greeted the rusty door knob. The atmosphere was not what he was accustomed to in his years as the beloved son of an esteemed citizen and politician. However, it was just what he needed. The tattered fibers of the carpet stuck to the soles of his shoes, an unpleasant sound was released as his bottom slid across the vinyl stool at the bar, and the air was laden with smoke despite the long – standing ordinance that prohibited smoking in public places. He continued to nurse the drink that had morphed from the rich color of amber to a shade vaguely reminiscent of piss.

 

Strangely, Spock felt at peace in the dilapidated establishment. There was comfort in battered wood beneath his fingers; understanding in the melancholy tune that drifted from the speakers. It was a momentary pardon from the angry voice of his father Sarek. The same voice that had called him a disgrace, threatened to disown him, and destroyed any potential for future happiness if the young man insisted on conducting himself in such a degrading manner. This from the same man of _integrity_ , who had buried the knowledge of a bastard child and countless mistresses; it was hypocrisy.  

 

“Faggot.” The word had been laced with arsenic when Sarek spoke. Spock’s mother avoided certain tragedy when she pushed the young man out the door and away from his father’s wrath. He blamed the bar’s stench and not his emotions for the burning sensation behind his lids.

 

Considering the lack of charm, it was no wonder that the place was practically empty. One bartender assigned to serve all of three customers including Spock; one indigent hiding from the winter’s air while sipping water from a dirty glass, a woman in worn stockings accentuated by broken stilettos, and then a sandy haired man entered the bar. 

 

Spock couldn’t help but stare.

 

The man breezed past the bar, threw a handful of peanuts in his mouth, nodded in the direction of the highest shelf and took his seat just as the glass touched the napkin. His jeans were faded and worn with strategic holes in varying spots on the denim. The boots on his feet were Italian made and expensive. They matched the jacket that covered the stool next to where the man was seated.

 

Spock followed the line of the new arrival’s jaw and studied the apple in his throat as it bobbed up and down as he chewed and swallowed. The man was cocky and confident. There was no deficit in his pride. The stranger felt Spock’s eyes on him; he rolled his head to the left, and followed up his smile with a wink. Immediately, control shifted to the subject’s hands and Spock felt his neck, face, and ears flush with heat.

 

As his father’s words of disgust repeated constantly in his head, Spock returned his attention to the drink before him. He declined the bartender’s offer for another. There was no reason for him to enter the bar and definitely no excuse to remain. His eyes floated to the right responding to the passing thought and he swallowed his growing curiosity. Spock pushed the still full glass of watered down liquor away and dropped a few bills on the bar. A synthesized up beat filled the air and he found he could identify with the lyrics of the song. He was tired of being what everyone else wanted. The pressure of walking in his father’s shoes had become too much. His mistakes were countless and he was numb. Maybe it was time to be true to Spock.

 

His eyes lingered on the figure a few feet away and a nervous flutter settled in the pit of his stomach.

 

Spock didn’t notice the men who entered the door as he began to walk towards the subject in his gaze. He was completely captivated by the disarming smile of the man with the ice blue eyes. With only a glance Spock knew that the man had read his story. Before names could be exchanged, chaos ensued.

 

There were voices raised in anger.

 

And still the smile remained on Spock’s stranger’s face, even as a bottle sliced into the smooth skin of the golden boy’s cheek.

 

The rounds fired from the bartender’s gun quickly brought an end to the barroom brawl. The assailants ran and Spock found himself standing above his object of interest. Without hesitation he pulled him from the darkness of the bar into the glaring brightness of the sun. Spock collapsed next to the man on the sidewalk, perplexed by the laughter that escaped his injured lips. He was gorgeous despite the blood that pooled at the corner of his mouth and the gash just below his eye.

 

“Hello stranger.” He murmured before passing out in Spock’s arms.

 

 *******

 

“Remember how we met?”

 

Spock was unsure if it was a game or Jim’s way of confirming that he reciprocated his feelings. It had been three years since their initial encounter in the bar. Three years since Spock had accepted who he was in spite of his father’s objections. There were no doubts with Jim. Just moments of intensity; some filled with joy and others with pain. It was their life - together.

 

Jim was a child, Spock the adult.

 

Jim acted without thinking, Spock picked up the pieces.

 

“Yes James, you delivered an audacious pick up line after getting your ass kicked by a gang of ruffians.”

 

And that was the day, time, and place _their_ story began. Spock had hailed a cab, lifted and balanced Jim’s body against his and piled him into the backseat once he had hauled both their frames from point A to point B. The two rode in silence to the emergency room. Jim wavered between coherent and incomprehensible. His head bobbed before it finally landed on Spock’s shoulder. Regardless of the intensity of the driver’s stare, Spock brushed the tips of his fingers over the man’s fluttering lashes.

 

He had ignored the constant vibration of his cell phone as his father called in attempt to ascertain his whereabouts. The almighty Sarek could run his own office for a day. Unfortunately, Spock folded after the third call and excused himself from his nameless companion to phone his father. It was midnight before they left the hospital. With nowhere to go, Jim tagged along, forging his place in Spock’s life.

 

“I said _hello_ and you were a stranger. There were no pickup lines involved.” Jim threaded his fingers through the hair at the nape of Spock’s neck. His lips soon followed suit.

 

Spock’s movements stilled and his breath hitched with the slightest touch. Jim always had this effect on him. He was incapable of seeing an idea to fruition with the man around. He was consumed by his presence – committed to his well being – determined to minimize his pain. At times Spock found the weight of the burden to love Jim Kirk more than he could stand to bear.

 

“Get dressed, we are expected at seven.” Spock shirked from Jim’s touch and walked into the bedroom. He kept his back turned to the other man as he buttoned his shirt and arranged his tie. He heard the sigh that left Jim’s lips and the unspoken concerns that resided just below the surface of his tongue that would fail to be addressed. They both ignored the growing tension between them. When Spock faced Jim he knew the man’s face would hold that luminous smile but the light never reached his eyes.

 

***

The two men wandered into Sarek’s home separately. The elder preferred that his son’s life remain personal. Tonight’s intimate dinner was a thank you to colleagues and lobbyists who had supported the man’s most recently introduced bill. It was of no benefit to Sarek’s political aspirations to have it widely publicized that his son was involved in a relationship that went against every conservative belief he preached from podium of the nation’s capital. Spock and Jim were roommates – close friends, but nothing more in the public’s eye. Denial was Sarek’s method of dealing with his son’s life.

Spock bypassed his father and the small crowd that cowered at his feet. His eyes locked on his mother Amanda and the woman who had her ear. He held his breath. She was stunning. Her body was lean yet curvaceous, a fact that was so obvious even the blind could see it thanks to knitted dress she wore like a second skin. Silky black curls cascaded down her back and his fingers yearned to touch them. His mother’s laughter interrupted his thought process and for the first time he noticed their entire conversation was conducted in French. The woman’s accent was flawless. Her voice was melodic and soothing to his ears. He drew closer to the two women, quietly watching as they continued their discussion. 

Mother finally acknowledged son. Two hands grasped his face and willingly, he bent accepting the kiss his mother offered. 

“Miss Uhura.” Amanda paused, “It is Miss, I’m sorry, I didn’t bother to ask.” 

The woman laughed – a deep alto bravado filled the air around them. She checked her finger and after a beat responded, “Yes it is Miss.” 

“Foolish men to let you remain single,” Amanda stepped back freeing the space between her son and new friend, “This is my son Spock.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Uhura.” He bowed gracefully with a slight smirk playing about his lips. 

“You can call me Nyota.” Her eyes were heavy with kohl liner, deep dark pools of brown, which were alert and full of curiosity as they cataloged every line of his face. He stood patiently and allowed her perusal. 

It took some time for them to notice that Amanda was no longer present. 

“You’re quite an accomplished scholar and lecturer for your age. It’s extremely impressive.” Nyota shifted her weight and raised her glass to her lips but she didn’t drink. “I enjoyed the article you contributed to the latest volume of _Out._ ”

Spock gradually lifted his brows. 

“Don’t do that it makes you look smug.” She sipped her wine slow and methodically.

“I must inquire why you would think I would author such a piece.”

“Your penname, _AFavoredSon,_ I possess significant skills of deduction, and I know the creative director.” She winked and the gesture was familiar and welcomed. “Don’t worry your secret’s safe with me.”

 “Did you enjoy it? The article, I mean” Spock’s voice shook with uncertainty. He felt the familiar heat of blood as it rose from his neck and began to burn the outer ridges of his ears. 

“It was gritty, raw, transparent, and extremely emotional. Not what I expected from _you._ ” Nyota swallowed the rest of her wine in a single gulp, her eyes stretched with the realization that he had misread her intent, “Please don’t take that as a backhanded compliment, but you’ve just been described as emotionally distant, almost robotic. It was a surprising read.” A mischievous glint rested in her eyes, “I should personally thank your muse for his inspiration.”

The conversation ended as she backed away from where he stood. Spock followed the rhythm of Nyota’s heels on the mahogany floor as she retreated from the room. 

 

***

 

Later that evening while his mother shared an entire apple pie with Jim, Spock found Nyota among the rows of leather bound first editions in his father’s office. She fingered the embossed gold lettering on the bindings; carefully plucking copies before she brought the pages to her nose and sniffed. Her eyes closed in delight and he could hear the faint whisper of her voice as she read the time – stained lines. He hated to end her fun, but he’d spent the entire dinner watching horny old men vie for her attention. Now he had her to himself.

 

Spock cleared his throat.

 

Nyota startled, spun on her heel, and the book flew from her hand. Spock caught it and he couldn’t help but laugh. It was a rarity. So was she.

 

“You are… beautiful.”

 

His words surprised him and based on her stance, he was sure she was taken a back by his boldness. Three years ago he would have never been this forward. Not until he met Jim. Guilt bloomed in his belly and he realized that he had no right. It was too late. She was close enough for him to smell the fragrance that lingered on her skin. Orange blossoms she smelt like orange blossoms.

 

Her mouth opened and she began to form words with her lips but there was no sound. His hand cupped her cheek and the question sprung from her tongue.

 

“Is Jim your article’s muse?”

 

Spock’s hand fell to his side. “Yes.”

 

Nyota bit her nail, “And what does he think about you sharing so many intimate details about his life?”

 

The sound of riotous laughter caught their attention, “In case you have failed to notice, Jim enjoys being the center of attention.” That comment only netted him a half grin from Nyota. She turned, eyes trained on another shelf filled with books. It occurred to Spock that he knew nothing about her, only a name, that she was bilingual, and read _Out_ on a regular basis.

 

“So Miss Uhura, do you always read anonymously penned articles in publications like _Out,_ and try to ascertain the identity of their authors?” Her hand hovered above the shelved books. She turned and took a few steps toward Spock.

 

“If that is your way of inquiring about my sexuality…” She lowered her voice and erased the millimeter of space between them. Nyota lifted her head and met the intensity in Spock’s eyes, “Don’t.”

 

Spock made the first move. He only tilted his head forward and their lips brushed. Her mouth was a bouquet of bitter fruit. He tasted her with lips and hands. He gathered her body in his arms and she melted against him. When she tried to pull away he deepened the kiss, forcing her to receive more of him, stilling his attack only to deliver chaste moments of affection to her jaw, nose, and brow. He nibbled at the base of her neck and she giggled.

 

Finally Nyota gained control of the situation, stepping back as her eyes traveled across his face, “Do you live with Jim? Are you together?”

 

He didn’t have to answer; the look on his face said it all. He mourned the loss of her from his arms.

 

“Bastard.”

 

It wasn’t the word that pained Spock, watching her newly formed opinion of him shift right before his eyes bothered him more than anything.

 

He was desperate to stop the negativity from permanently poisoning her. “You have ruined my life.” Maybe he overreacted…it was true.

 

“You’ll get over it.” Nyota stormed past Jim as she fled the office.

 

***

 

Jim had kissed him almost immediately upon entering Sarek’s sanctum. Spock didn’t respond to the action directly. His mind was elsewhere. Around the corner and down the hall with the long legged woman who’d tired of his indecision during their first meeting. Nyota’s scent was still heavy in the air. She made it impossible for him to focus his attention on anything other than their poorly timed encounter. The taste of Nyota’s lips lingered on his and it was a bitter and unwelcomed contrast to Jim’s. Spock tried to pull away, urging the other man to listen. Their actions were careless. He didn’t want to risk his father’s wrath.

 

His argument was full of hypocritical bullshit; after all he was his father’s son.

 

Less than five minutes before he had freely shared an intimate kiss with a woman he’d barely known. A female who’d arrested him with her smile and easy banter. He would see her again, but at what cost.

 

For the time, Spock left his parents for the evening. Arms linked with the man who had awakened his spirit. They shared a cab to the loft they called home. A wall of silence erected between them as they shed suits, ties, and cufflinks. Spock pretended to check emails, texts, and voicemails while Jim showered. Their roles reversed and no further mention of the night’s events made. Still with their tongues held hostage by fear and anger they slipped under the covers and fought to find peace.

 

Jim’s voice broke through the darkness surrounding them. “I’m waiting for you to leave me.”

 

Spock’s heart broke once he heard Jim’s confession. He was immediately convicted. He reached for him, pulling Jim against his chest and kissed the damp hair covering the crown of the man’s head. Spock didn’t fight when Jim stretched his neck for a kiss. He even offered a moan in response to the hands that traveled under his t-shirt and found his nipples. He yielded to his partner’s affectionate aggression. He growled when wet lips met the small of his back. A whimper the only answer he had for Jim’s hands and the questions they mapped on the erection between his legs. There was fury and passion in their love making. Dirty words spoken amidst lovers and when it ended uncertainty remained.

 

“I will always be here for you Jim.”

 

Spock wasn’t sure if the words were consolation he offered to himself or his lover. They fooled no one.

 

“Beautiful lies from a beautiful mouth.”

 

Jim planted a final kiss on Spock’s lips before he returned to his side of the bed and drifted into a fitful sleep.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_ II. _

 

 

Jim knew something Spock did not; their days together, at least the way they’d been spent for the past three years were numbered.

 

He wasn’t afraid of being alone. He’d lived that way since the age of fifteen, forgotten by a mother who found solace in a bottle and the warm beds of unnamed men after his father’s heroic death. George Kirk had been gunned down in the city’s streets by a ruthless criminal. Jim and his brother Sam had balanced his mother, holding her steady as they followed the processional of uniformed officers and bagpipes. His brother left home that night. Disappearing across the country for a life where he didn’t have to compete with a ghost or a raise the mother who sucked at her God given mission.

 

Nightly, Jim counted the pills that spilled from her bottle. He’d echoed too many words of comfort to silence one of her maniacal rants. Hours had been wasted tearing vomit soaked sheets from her bed and stuffing them into the washer, only to repeat the process again and again until dawn broke. Then came the night when he reached the point of no return. Corey, Dexter, or Frank the names meant nothing now, turned on Jim angered by his mother’s inebriated state and forced him self on the teen. He’d cried. He’d screamed. He’d begged for his mother’s protection. It never came. 

 

With a bruised face and swollen lips, Jim filled his bag and ran from his mother’s home. In the days that followed he learned five minutes on his knees could provide enough money to eat for a week. Sharing more of his body provided the monetary means to have a life that was comfortable despite the murky lenses through which he now viewed the world. Jim went on like that for years, he grew from small time trick turner to the valued companion of rich, powerful and professional closet bound men. Then he met Spock. Without regret he traded one secret for another.

 

The sense of security Jim found in Spock’s arms waned over the years. He knew when they met, the man wasn’t ready to openly live the way they did behind closed doors. Spock was fascinated with Jim. The air of confidence and no holds barred attitude. He played to win. He never lost and if he did, he walked away smile still brightening his face. The article had been the beginning. The daily conversations about Jim’s past, what and who he’d done to survive. The fact that he’d enjoyed most of it. Spock’s love and devotion slowly began to die.

 

Jim had seen it, the confirmation present in the man’s eyes that night. Constantly Spock searched for the woman at dinner, his neck craned to listen to her conversations, and he’d disappeared down the hall when she’d declined to share dessert with Amanda and Jim. Spock had found a new object to desire; a new idol to worship. There was no denying her beauty. Even the blind could see that, it played out in the tone of her voice as well as the intoxicating melody created by the sway of her hips. Spock had stalked her, timing visits to his father’s office, to coincide with her presence there. He’d discovered the address of her business and home and frequented both locations. Jim had witnessed his behavior but never shared his observances. The woman had rejected his lover’s advances, leaving the confidence - lacking man in the streets on the verge of tears.

 

And now, Nyota, sat here in Jim’s club waiting for the drink on his tray. 

 

The vodka spilled on his hand as he placed the martini on the gray square of paper before her. He avoided her gaze and moved to leave the table until he felt her slim fingers encircle his wrist.

 

“Jim…right?”

 

The fluorescent glow of the lights caused a halo to form around her head, but she was no angel; a devil in disguise maybe. She urged him to sit and he obeyed. She made love to the rim of the glass with her lips, her tongue expertly retrieving an olive from the liquid. She sat back, staring at him before speaking.

 

“A waiter,” She followed her question with a look filled with condescension. “Is this temporary?”

 

“No.” Jim rolled his eyes and stood.

 

“Sit down.” Her words were full of authority and despite the ever increasing hatred for her that formed in his belly, he sat. A small smirk lined her lips and it became impossible to hide his growing annoyance with the beauty in front of him.

 

“Save it.” Jim leaned in to face her. “I heard your conversation that night. Enough with the haughty air of superiority, you’re no better than what I use to be.”

 

“I’m not a thief,” she responded with her finger pointed towards Jim’s face, “I refuse to take something that belongs to someone else.” No further arguments were made as she finished the drink. “I read his article.”

 

Jim slouched down in the booth.

 

“How do you feel about him discussing your life so candidly?”

 

“That’s none of your damn business.” He regained his posture and reined in his anger. At the end of the day, the real argument was with Spock, not her. “Do you want another drink?”

 

“Sure.” She kept her eyes focused on the empty glass on the table.

 

Jim returned to the table with two drinks; another martini for Nyota and a bottle of beer for him. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned few buttons of his shirt. “To the joys of servitude.” He raised his bottle in a toast and the chime of the glass meeting rung out in the bar. No wasted words passed between them as they drank.

 

“Thank you…for the drink.” Nyota smoothed out the wrinkles of her dress before she slipped her arms into cashmere coat.

 

Jim chewed on the nail of his thumb before meeting her gaze. “Stay away from him. Don’t add liar and thief to your resume.”

 

***

 

There was evidence of Spock’s continued infatuation; notes scribbled on the pad beside the computer. Email receipts for flowers ordered. The first time the lovesick idiot had sent roses, red in a traditionally arranged bouquet, next more roses, twenty – four white, long – stemmed, accompanied by poetic words, and the final, most recent orders were for orchids and calla lilies. He’d found her favorite.

 

It didn’t matter.

 

Nyota still stalked away from Spock when he stepped from the shadows in attempt to steal a moment of her time. He kept his distance during business hours. Her recent work with a junior senator increased the time she spent in the building that housed his father’s office. In no unspoken terms she had cautioned him, promised that she would take legal action to enforce her right to privacy and personal space. The request had only been made for the time she spent at work and not home. At least that’s the way Spock had interpreted the warning.

 

Jim watched her soften over time. Occasionally Nyota looked for Spock on the days he was not there, the general buoyancy in her stride dissipated. She relished the attention the man provided. Jim needed to quickly end their game of flirtation before Nyota buckled under the weight of Spock’s countless advancements.

 

The endgame came in the form of a man a little over six feet tall who possessed a mesmerizing pair of golden green eyes.

 

Unhappiness had forced Jim to a state of unrest. He’d picked up old habits, cigarettes, drinks in bars where the well – established and powerful window shopped for new play things to rent. That’s where he found him, seated at the bar, shot glass and whiskey bottle before him. There was no introduction or exchange of names. He studied the man. Possibly he was pervert, he wasn’t a closeted homosexual and he really didn’t understand his decision to have a drink in _this_ bar. Soon the boys would make themselves known and the man would be helpless against their charms.

 

“This isn’t what you want.” Jim signaled the bartender for glass, borrowed the strange man’s bottle and poured an ounce of liquid.

 

“Who the hell are you to tell me what I want.” The man’s thick southern accent and slurred speech made him hard to understand. Obviously he’d indulged in half the city’s share of alcohol before stepping into the bar.

 

“You just don’t look the part, and I know a little about the part.” Jim poured another drink and waved off an approaching interested party.

 

The drunken man’s shoulders relaxed, “Whatever that means. Quit talkin’ in riddles and say what you mean.”

 

Jim hijacked a pen from the man’s pocket, scribbled an address on a dry napkin. He rolled the paper around the pen and held out for the man. “You strike me as a leg man. All you’re going to find here is little boys looking for daddy. This easy lady may be just what you need.” The man took the pen and paper; finished his drink and left.

 

Jim knew he would see him again.

 

***

 

 

 

It took less than a week for the new stranger to make an appearance. It was a Thursday night. Spock’s extended evening at the office and Jim’s late shift at the club. Jim always took the long way home, just to check, to see if Spock stood watch under the streetlights in front of her building like a lovesick puppy. Jim wasn’t disappointed. This time before Spock could open his mouth and call her name, a new player appeared on the scene.

 

Nyota’s head was down, the strands of her long black hair peeked from the beneath the wool cap meant to keep the heat in her body. A weathered leather coat covered her frame and hid the slim jeans beneath it. The breath from her mouth exited in visible white clouds.

 

Nyota walked with purpose.

 

She was scared, it was late, and it had never occurred to Jim to tell his new friend how to approach her. Immediately his eyes fell to Nyota’s feet, heavy with thick soled boots. If he extended a warning his cover and role in the shenanigan would be known. He stood back and waited for the train wreck to unfold. The man reached for Nyota and Jim expected a reaction, yet none of the men saw it coming when the steel toe of those boots connected with the tender spot between the stranger’s legs. The man fell to his knees and cried out in pain. Her fist slammed into his nose and sent the man flying backwards a few inches. Nyota climbed the stairs hurriedly, and as she reached the door of her building, her shoulders sagged before she turned and ran back down the steps to aid her victim.

 

She listened, mouth slightly ajar, as the man rattled off an explanation. Her eyes searched the darkness, stopping at the spot where Jim was hidden. He wasn’t seen, because no great curse filled rant followed. She focused her energy on the man still rolling around on the ground.

 

 _Sorry._

 

The universal expression for I fucked up was easily discernible from Jim’s hiding place behind the street sign across the street. He watched as she helped the man sit up and waited for him to acknowledge that he was ready to stand.

 

Nyota was vicious but she also had a heart. She was a lot more like Jim than he’d given her credit for. She touched the man’s face and he winced. Finally the two stood and together they walked to the steps. Seconds slipped by and they disappeared behind closed doors. Jim had forgotten about Spock until he saw a flurry of purple against the dirty snow covering the sidewalk. In his haste the man had dropped the flowers as he ran from the scene.

 

The stranger was Leonard McCoy - divorced father of one – prestigious doctor – consummate humanitarian – a southern born gentleman. That night birthed a whirlwind romance. A healthcare lobbyist, silver spoon bred exotic beauty meets handsome man with a heart. They were a match made in heaven.

 

That was what Jim read, three months later in the engagement announcement. The short paragraph was accompanied by a picture of the two, locked in a loving embrace, smiles painted on their faces, and diamonds burning in their eyes. The obvious tenderness in the way the man’s fingers lingered on her cheek made Jim’s heart ache. He coveted the bliss that rested on Nyota’s face. He’d done this. Found two dejected souls happiness.

 

Jim left the paper folded and propped against the computer’s monitor.

 

Now Spock could forget Nyota Uhura.


	3. Chapter 3

_III._  

 

It was one of those stories; the kind that would live on in Nyota Uhura’s memory until she bowed to death’s final call. It would burn and beg to be shared with strangers, friends, and grandchildren over steaming mugs of tea and trays of freshly baked cookies. She would smile when she thought of him… _them_ …their moments filled with laughter, tears, and pain.   
   
She was happy and that very fact scared her shitless.   
   
The bottle weighed down her hand, a noticeable ache was present in her wrist. She read the name of the medication and memorized the warnings listed on the brightly colored stickers. She debated whether or not to down the pills with buttered toast or thin crackers. Without another thought she popped the top and swallowed the pills whole without water.   
   
Daylight had just begun to creep through the windows. It was the most peaceful time of the day. Paranoia and misplaced distress were dead asleep and of no consequence to her world. Most importantly, stretched across her queen- sized bed under a mountain of sheets lay a body, warm, fit, and damn near edible. She surveyed him from a distance, the wisps of hair that covered his legs, bruises on the small of his back where he’d fallen during ice skating, and the choppy layers of hair that desperately needed a professional cut. He stirred under her scrutiny and she moved closer. Her body molded to his as she slipped under the covers and found that his arms quickly made her a captive.   
   
Nyota had no complaints.   
   
A movie she had seen once, described it as a meet - cute. Unfortunately there was nothing that could be deemed delightful in reference to their initial introduction. It was a late night in January, the air was cold, and Leonard McCoy appeared out of nowhere. He had invaded her personal space, posed a threat to her safety, and in return Nyota attacked the man, and rendered him incapable of forming a counter attack. In the end it proved to be a simple misunderstanding.   
   
“I’m not a whore.” Nyota dabbed at the blood spilling from his nose.   
   
She had brought her victim inside, intent on righting her wrong, by graciously extending first aid and a warm beverage.   
   
McCoy snatched the towel from her hand, “Dammit, I never said you were.” He held his head back in attempt to stop the free pour of blood.  
   
“What was all the talk about money and naming my price?” Her eyes stretched and her mouth twisted as she awaited his response. “Do you always talk to women like they’re a cheap trick for your enjoyment? Misogynistic asshole.”  
   
“You know nothing about me. Watch your mouth lady.” He threw the towel down and stomped to the door. “Some pretty mouthed fucker gave me your address…just forget it.”  
   
“Bright blue eyes…don’t know if you want to fuck him or kill him.”   
   
Understanding spread across McCoy’s face and the tension riddled throughout Nyota’s subsided with the laugh that escaped her lips.  
 “What’s so damn blasted funny?”  
 “We’ve been Kirk’d.”  
Nyota’s laugh deepened and the tears burned the whites of her eyes. That night was the first time in years, she felt relief and joy in the same breath; a rare moment of bliss where neither sensation was chemically induced or enhanced.   
   
She rummaged in her freezer until she found a frost covered ice pack for the swelling around his nose. She was lost in his eyes when the kettle whistled, content to spend the rest of the evening there soaking up the charm in his lop – sided grin. He followed her to the kitchen and stood close as she poured the water in the mugs for their tea.   
   
McCoy was a good listener and a sinfully talented kisser.   
   
 

***

   
 _Dr. and Mrs. Leonard Horatio McCoy._  
   
Nyota rolled the title on her tongue as she flipped through the glossy pages of the bridal catalogs she had picked up from the wedding planner. White dresses, stiletto heels, and platinum bands covered in diamonds graced the publications’ sheets from cover to cover. She had little time to plan the perfect social event and more and more her fiancé was pressing for a quiet ceremony with their closest friends and family only.  
   
Leonard’s proposal had come two months to the day after their first meeting. There was little fanfare; he had managed to pull together a candlelight dinner. He welcomed her home with a single purple lily, the air heavy with the scent of garlic, oregano, and basil; while the muted tones of Ben Harper played in the background. Leonard McCoy didn’t mince words. Speaking in generalities was not his thing.  
   
“Don’t have much, but what I got is yours.” He’d stammered as he struggled to find his way on one knee in the professionally laundered pants she demanded he wear.  
   
The sentiment in his voice had moved Nyota to tears and she took a chance, threw analysis out the window and let her heart be the guide.  
   
“Yes.”  
   
Anyone who asked heard the tale of their first meeting and her tendency towards violence. Arguments always ended with something being tossed at his head and followed by a marathon session of intimacy that bordered somewhere between fighting and fucking. That was their love – raw, passionate, and steeped in insanity. Still, Nyota’s retelling never changed, midway through her recollection, her lashes would lower, the corners of her mouth turned up, and a faint sigh eased from her lips. He was the man she’d waited years to find.  
   
Their relationship was far from perfect. Uncertainty was the crutch that carried Nyota from day to day. She fancied him. She missed him when he was gone. She thought of him often, but he was a complicated mess. She had called off the wedding three times since he popped the question. Written a retraction for the society page and damn near mailed it only to break under the weight of her tears. She wanted this. A chance to prove that she needed something or someone more than the pills she popped and chased with exorbitantly priced bottles of wine.  
   
Then there was her Len. He was still bitter from the end of his first marriage and the judge’s decision to grant sole custody to his ex–wife. He missed his child. Nightly Nyota fell asleep pressed tightly to his chest listening intently as he talked of their future children, boys and girls that exhibited their best qualities; a daughter with grace and a sharp tongue or a son with gentle hands and shrewd eye for business and valuable connections. Leonard had just as much to prove as Nyota.  
   
His views were egalitarian at best. He hated her biased beliefs on class and upbringing. He was a public servant. She was an elitist snob. Leonard relegated his time and talent to city run hospitals and absolutely refused to consider Nyota’s suggestion of a move to private practice. She could lobby and fulfill the dreams of overpaid government officials he would continue to help those who understood his trials.  
   
“Maybe you should marry Sarek’s spoiled little brat instead of the country doctor.”  
   
She knew he hadn’t meant it. Those words had hurt his heart almost as much as they had destroyed the hope Nyota had in their potential for life long happiness. Her hand had extended of its own accord, the slap delivered to the side of his face a sample of the viciousness laced in her DNA.  
   
McCoy taunted Nyota, “That’s the ticket, next time do it with a little more feeling.”  
   
Her hand had been intercepted by his before contact with his face could be made for a second time. When their lips met the battle shifted from anger to lust. A brutal back and forth took place as she nipped his bottom lip and he forced his tongue past her teeth.  
   
She wouldn’t have had it any other way.  
   
His fingers were rough as they traveled up her thigh to the wetness birthed from their heated exchange. There was little gentleness in the way he thumbed her clit and she echoed his force as she retrieved the hardness from his pants. McCoy’s strokes were brutal and relentless. There were no verbal apologies only a cacophony of grunts and groans between them.  
   
When Nyota’s back arched high off the mattress and her legs tightly wrapped around McCoy’s waist it was the only dose of medication she needed.  
 

***

   
   
The staccato drum of her heels on the floor threatened the chemically induced joy Nyota felt after her morning spell of McCoy and Diazepam. Still her heart pounded and her breath quickened as she walked down the hall to Spock’s office.  
   
Doubt…  
   
Nerves…  
   
She didn’t know which was to blame.  
   
She found him there, bespectacled, attention focused on the monitor before him. It had been months since they last talked. Most of her free time had been consumed with the doctor and thoughts of their future. She’d caught glimpses of Spock in passing. His eyes full of desire but his tongue bridled by the allegiance he felt to Jim. The distance became a welcomed comfort. He sensed her presence before she spoke, when their eyes met, courage fled her soul, and the envelope she held slipped from her grasp.  
   
Spock retrieved the item from the floor. His brows lifted as his gaze settled on his and Jim’s names written in Old English script. There was a moment of hesitation before Nyota watched as one of his bony fingers broke the envelope’s seal and removed the parchment. He was quiet as he studied the photo of the attractive couple and read the words; his face impassive. She turned to leave without a parting glance.  
   
Spock’s voice rooted her to the ground beneath her feet, “Don’t do this.”  
   
She had faith, so she thought, in her decision to marry the doctor until the edge in Spock’s voice chipped away at the resolve Nyota had built. It was easy for her mind to recall her first meeting with the senator’s son; the caress of his lips at the base of her neck and the fire that his touch stirred within her.  
   
“I love him.” The words were lost in the center of his chest as long limbs wrapped around her body in a haphazard embrace. There was no concern for the spectators in the hall or the others in their lives when his head bent to meet her lips. She froze, refusing to give in to the very real need for him. Spock pushed her further, urging her to relinquish control, “I can’t.” Nyota whispered as she extricated herself from his arms.  
   
“Look me in the eyes and tell me you feel nothing - you love me.”  
   
It should have been a simple task, her tongue stumbled on the words, and “I’m not in love with you,” finally spilled from her lips.    
   
His knuckles brushed across her cheek and her breath hitched, “You, my Nyota, are a liar.”  
   
Spock stood cocky and brazen, traits reminiscent of the man who shared his bed.  
   
“I’m a _liar_.” Her voice escalated as she gathered her senses, “How quickly we forget.”  
   
Forcefully he grabbed her and his fingers dug into her flesh, nearly breaking the skin. She’d broken through the superficial air that surrounded him. His gritted his teeth with the portentous warning, “You will never be happy.”  
   
“I am happy.” Spock flinched under Nyota’s words.  
   
“I love him not you.” His jaw tightened with her words. The resurgence of power in her veins spurred on her venomous verbal attack, “He wants me – not some little rent boy that’s tasted every drop of seed from here to Long Island. It’s his name I call when I come, not yours.”  
   
Briefly she feared for her safety, as passion and rage burned in his eyes. Within seconds the mask of composure returned and Spock took two steps back causing the physical gap to mirror the emotional one between them. “Congratulations.” He crumbled the battered picture in his hand. 


	4. Chapter 4

IV.

 

James Tiberius Kirk meandered into the ball room and McCoy laughed internally as he debated which parent had cursed him with that middle name. McCoy allowed his eyes to follow Jim around the room. He didn’t need any assistance -- the man easily stood out in a crowd: crooked smile, piercing eyes, and a magnetism that could not be denied.

 

Nyota had informed him of her intention to invite Sarek and his family. It was a given that the senator’s son’s ‘roommate’ would tag along. She hated him and a part of the doctor knew what she coined has hatred was jealousy. Jim never strayed far from Nyota’s stalker. His gaze trained on his lover and the woman who had captured the young heir’s attention. As much as Leonard McCoy wanted to hate Kirk for his trickster ways, in the end it had been a blessing in disguise. There would be no party, engagement, or future Mrs. McCoy without Jim’s misguided interference.

 

The doctor had wandered into _that_ bar, not by happenstance. The doctor had been set on exploring a long buried proclivity. He was immune to alcohol and wary of ample bosoms and parted thighs. Cupid, their pet name for Mr. Kirk, had scribbled her name on a napkin, warded off potentially addictive new friends, and steered McCoy to her door. One killer right hook and a knee to the groin was all it took to nudge his affections from infatuation to love.

 

Nyota Uhura was beautiful - full of fight and fury. Just the way McCoy liked them; that was the problem. In many ways she was a replica of his ex – wife Jocelyn; striking features, warm heart, intellectually stimulating, and ornately adorned in privilege. There were differences between the two women, qualities and traits that flowed deeper than the box they checked to categorize their familial history. Jocelyn had been happy to take everything he’d worked for instead of acquiring anything on her own. He blamed the perpetual silver spoon that protruded from her mouth. His future wife, Nyota, was not content with being the pretty face on a man’s arm. She refused to be reduced to lobbyist eye candy, it simply wasn’t enough to strategically align her cause with the most powerful men in the district, and obeisance to her and the interests she supported was required. McCoy admired her almost as much as he loved her. 

 

She also frightened him.

 

Immediately his eyes found her, surrounded by old hags begging for a moment to bask in Nyota’s glory on the newspaper’s Life and Style page. Not once did the glass of champagne in her hand shake as a tremor rolled through her body. She held the clutch in her other hand protectively, as the women pawed at her designer ensemble. He didn’t have to guess what the bag contained, a tampon, a tube of MAC _Wind Me Up_ , and the bottle of pills she never left home without. Before she could be missed, Nyota would disappear into the ladies room and chase her nerves away.

 

Thanks to an interruption, the doctor had little time to concern himself with what his love did while she powdered her nose.

 

“How do you plan on showing your thanks Leonard Horatio McCoy?” The voice was low, deep, and sensual. It caused the hair on the back of the doctor’s neck to stand at attention when he spoke.

 

McCoy turned to meet a familiar pair of blue eyes, “Kiss my ass.”

 

“That could be arranged.” Jim stole two glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. “Maybe you should teach a class.” He handed a flute to McCoy.

 

The kid was irritating, polite, but worrisome. “What are you a waiter?”

 

Jim coughed out a laugh as a stubby digit plunged into the liquid housed in the fine crystal in search of the strawberry floating at the bottom.

 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be…souls to corrupt…pranks to play?”

 

Cerulean, his eyes were the color of the sea. Jim’s smile eased the tension spreading throughout the doctor’s body.

 

“You’re not still mad?” The juice from the berry, dribbled down the man’s chin as he spoke, “Fuck…this is better than winning the lottery.”

 

McCoy reared back, taking in the room, “So you like this, young Jim?”

 

“Hell no,” Jim snatched the still full glass from the doctor, fished out the fruit and swallowed the bubbly in a gulp, “Bunch of tight-ass aristocrats, putting on airs, kissing your downy white derriere, and talking shit as soon as they leave about how you couldn’t find a ‘nice’ girl to marry. Yet they go home and mommies numb their pain with prescription meds while their husbands pop the cherries of the little girls and boys from the country club.” His eyes went from amused to dark as he stared at McCoy’s face, “It’s a big fat lie. You can have it, this life is all yours.”

 

“Pleasure and self – destruction, the perfect poison.” McCoy watched as Jim’s mood shifted. “I read your little sugar daddy’s latest article, how’s the book coming, any good?”

 

“Sugar daddy, you’re funny, I might have to use that one, some time.” Jim now mirrored McCoy’s stance, foot crossed in front of the other ankle, arms folded, brows furrowed, and a wry grin playing at his lips. “Of course the book’s good; Spock’s a prolific writer, the voice of his generation.”

 

It was impossible to contain his laugh, “Idiot, it’s about you, right?”

 

“Some of me.”

 

Jim’s tone troubled McCoy, “What did he leave out Mr. Kirk?”

 

“The truth.”

 

***

George Person said it best, “One man’s truth is another man’s lies.”

 

The room that night, at the engagement celebration was filled with liars, McCoy included. He accepted his role, arm wrapped around Nyota’s waist, bourbon in his free hand, and he basked in the glory of their night. False smiles and phony congratulations, Jim had been right. If the doctor wanted his prize, this is the sacrifice that had to be made.

 

Six months later, the doctor held the same pose, as his oldest friend toasted the bride and groom on their wedding day. Carefully, he searched the crowd for the two faces tied to the fate of his marriage. They were there, one on the groom’s side the other on the bride’s. The battle lines were clearly drawn.

 

He danced with his wife for most of the night; those words made his spirit soar; only relinquishing control to his father – in law when a fitting Stevie Wonder tune tickled the crowd’s ears. 

 

Nyota was different in her father’s care, vulnerable and open. It was an unseen side of the fierce woman he’d met nearly a year before. She floated across the dance floor as her father guided their steps. There was no sign of nerves or stress. He hadn’t seen the pills in months; maybe what they had was enough for them both.

 

Together they could find peace.

 

“Be good to her.”

 

Though the two men had never exchanged words, he didn’t have to turn to greet the face of the man who had fought valiantly for her heart.

 

“I’ll give her just what she needs.”

 

McCoy walked proudly to the dance floor, tapped Mr. Uhura on the shoulder, and took his place with Nyota. With noses brushing and foreheads pressed together, husband and wife danced. Silent promises doomed to be broken were exchanged, but for a night perfect strangers became the city’s iconic couple.

 

Marriage was full of compromise.

 

Nyota could sway public opinion, law makers, and her husband alike. McCoy handed in his resignation when they returned from their honeymoon. He stood helpless as she wrote a check for the down payment on the building that would house his private practice.

 

The bottom floor of a brownstone where he could treat their peers, ignoring deep seated issues, and scribbling answers on a prescription pad; the cost was too high, but it kept her centered and their future ensured.

 

“Len, it’s for the best.” The words were a sugary, sweet attempt at reassurance, scattered between his labored thrusts. He swore the woman conducted all her negotiations amid silken sheets. Right now he’d give her the world, all she had to was ask as she scraped her nails down his back.

 

“I love you.” He managed between pants and he thought she would cry; a regretful look on her face as she wiped the sweat from his brow.

 

“You’re too good for me…I don’t deserve you.”

 

“Don’t you forget it.”

 

McCoy buried himself deeper in her warmth, set on driving out whatever was clouding her mood with the act of lovemaking.

 

It didn’t work.

 

The distinct sound of a pill bottle pulled him from sleep the following morning.

 

***

 

“Don’t move.”

 

Nyota peered over the pages of the book in her hands, glasses on the bridge of her nose, and an apprehensive look burdening her features.

 

“I want to remember this moment forever; the first time I walked through the door, returning from a business trip, to be greeted by my wife. I have, in this moment, become an adult.”

 

McCoy closed the gap between them and kissed her lips gently.

 

“Thanks for waiting up darlin’. You goddess. I missed you. Dammit, I’m whooped.”

 

She tried to smile, attempted to move, reassure her husband that she was equally enamored, and completely saddened by the seven days they had spent apart.

 

“I missed you too.”

 

Nyota whispered the words and smoothed the hair at his temples, fear lodged in his throat – something was wrong.

 

McCoy ignored his intuition, “What time is it?” He asked despite the fact he was well aware that only five minutes had passed since he glanced at the illuminated dashboard flashing 1:35 a.m., before exiting the car parked in the garage below their building.

 

“Almost two.” She avoided his open arms and walked into the kitchen. “Are you hungry?”

 

McCoy looked on somewhat helplessly as his wife of a few months busied herself with opening and closing the dishwasher, staring into the freezer, and any and every other task that maintained the distance between them.

 

“Not for food.” He moved forward and slipped his arms around her waist from behind, burying his face in her neck. “I’d rather show you how much you were missed.”

 

There was no response from Nyota when his erection pressed against the curve of her ass.

 

“Stop it Len, I’m not your on-call personal piece of pussy.”

 

Nyota slammed the cabinet closed, the sound echoed through the apartment, before she finally turned to face him.

 

McCoy grabbed her left ring finger, “With all due respect, I do not agree Mrs. McCoy. Two little words, _I do,_ sealed that deal.”

 

“Go take a shower, you stink.”

 

He pressed her back against the counter and stole a kiss, “I’m sorry. Forgive me, I promise to never leave you alone again.”

 

She relaxed and gave in to the magic of his lips, fisting her hands in his sweater and pulling him closer. “You still stink.”

 

He could feel the smile in her kiss, “Duly noted my sexy and irresistible better half.”

 

Thirty minutes later McCoy emerged from the bedroom, hair still damp and a towel wrapped around his waist; a simple golden shoe box with white lettering in his hand.

 

“I come bearing gifts.”

 

He held his breath as she removed the lid and slipped the red bag from inside.

 

A sincere look of appreciation crossed her face, “You’re wonderful.”

 

“Don’t you ever forget it.” He poured a glass of bourbon before disappearing behind the bedroom door. Minutes later he returned, dressed in jeans and fighting with the buttons of the crisp white shirt he pulled on.

 

“Why are you dressed?” Nyota’s eyes were trained on the box as she absently fingered the heel of a shoe.

 

“Because I think you may be about to leave me and I didn’t want to be butt ass naked running down the street after my wife. Please don’t leave me.”

 

Fresh tears hung on the edge of her lashes as her voice shakes, “I’m sorry Len – you deserve…”

 

In mere seconds the doctor knelt before her, “I need you, fuck deserve, _this_! _You_ are why I breathe.”

 

“Don’t do that. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

 

His grip tightened sure to bruise her delicate skin. “It’s him, the ass boy. Does he want a woman to peg and rim him now?”

 

“I love him.”

 

The admission rocked him to the core. He wanted to hurt her, squeeze the life from her, but that would only break his heart more, not open her eyes to the pain her actions had caused.

 

“You’re seeing him…”

 

The silence between them multiplied.

 

“Yes.”

 

She didn’t even have the good sense to deny it; to lie and ease the blow.

 

“Why did you marry me?”

 

Finally he was rewarded with eye contact.

 

“Don’t be an asshole Len, I loved you.”

 

The glass from his hand breezed past her head and shattered against the wall. “Fantastic way to show your fucking love Nyota.”

 

She took two steps back, “I’m sorry.”

 

“Damn right you’re sorry. Ungrateful…spoiled…bi…” He paused before the words could be spoken. “Don’t leave me. I understand you.” The unfamiliar sting of tears disarmed him. McCoy stood taller to mask the disappointment that had grown by leaps and bounds during their conversation.

 

“I know. Thank you for your kindness…your love. Stay here. This is your home.”

 

Her concession was unacceptable and meaningless, “I don’t give a flying fuck about the parting gifts. You did this bullshit the day we met; let me hang myself by the dick for your amusement. Why didn’t you tell me the second I walked in your front door?”

 

She moved closer, “I was scared.”

 

“Because you’re a coward, a spoiled self righteous bitch.”

 

That time he refused to hold back.

 

“Is he a good fuck? Do you come? Does he make you scream his name?”

 

“Stop it Len, let it go.”

 

“Answer the damn question, Nyota. Is he good?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Better than me?”

 

“Different?”

 

“Better?”

 

“Gentler?”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“You know what it means Leonard McCoy.”

 

He did know what it meant. The nights he took her body like she was a common street walker outnumbered the encounters of gentle intimacy. Of course Spock was different but it didn’t mean he loved her more.

 

McCoy grabbed Nyota’s face, “Don’t do this.” He knew he was beyond begging.

 

And it still wasn’t enough.


	5. Chapter 5

V.

 

“She won’t even see me.”  
   
Jim shook his head at McCoy’s words and slid the two fingers of scotch in the doctor’s direction. He’d found him in the same spot where they’d met nearly two years before; shoulders slouched, head downturned, and burying his sorrows in an empty shot glass.  
   
A twinge of guilt settled into the pit of Jim’s stomach. He was partly to blame for the man’s pain. There was no question about it, he was completely to blame. It had been obvious, even to the blind, that Spock and Nyota would let their attraction, love, run its course despite the destruction it would bring to everyone around them. They were egotistical soul mates cut from the same cloth of privilege.  
   
Jim beat the pack of Marlboros against his palm, slipping one from the plastic, and lighting up. “You can’t cry here.”  
   
“You shouldn’t smoke.” A spark returned to McCoy’s eyes, his undeniable wit present and fully accounted for.  
   
“You’re a doctor, they pay you to say that shit.” Jim lifted the scotch from his companion’s hand, threw back the liquor, savoring its pungent taste, all before his lips circled the cigarette and took one long drag off the nicotine stick held between his fingers.  
   
“It’s your funeral.”  
   
“You can’t cry there either.”  
   
Leonard McCoy was a defeated man; disappointment worn on his sleeve like a badge of courage.  
   
“Why the _fuck_ did he leave you?”  
   
The million dollar question…  
   
It had taken less than a minute for the ones who had broken their hearts to invade the conversation. The how and why was unimportant, Nyota and Spock, were together. Jim and McCoy were lost.  
   
“All I’ve got left is my bones.”  
   
“Well, the next round is on me, Bones.”  
   
Jim motioned for a new bottle from the bar. A server with a bare glitter-covered chest delivered the request to the table. He waited patiently for Jim to tip him, smiling when his boss slipped a bill in his front pocket and fingered the outline of the very visible bulge in the waiter’s pants.  
   
Ownership really did have its perks. This was his world – chaos and unbridled lust. In the smoky corner of his personal den of iniquity, Jim Kirk played ringmaster to an illicit circus of desire quickly spiraling out of control around him.  
   
McCoy was helplessly caught in the middle. Mesmerized by the bright lights and loud music; his face flushed with an arousal the doctor would never admit as he young men brushed his shoulder in passing, holding his gaze, and complimenting him on everything from unkempt beard to the shape of his very kissable lips.  
   
“Penny for your thoughts?” Jim asked as he refilled McCoy’s glass.  
   
“Can you make it go away? Just for a night make this stupid - dang blasted pain - go the hell away.”  
   
In a poor attempt at comfort, Jim reached for McCoy’s hand, “I told you it was a big fat lie. You’re too good for them…too real.”  
   
He repeated the empty words that looped over and over again in his head on the nights when the bed was empty and the sheets cold without the warmth of Spock’s body.  
 

***

   
“This will hurt.”  
   
The statement was delivered in a matter-of-fact manner, without concern for emotions or penalty for his words. Jim had awakened to find Spock standing over him. His face was void of color. He had entered the home he shared with Jim, hair in disarray, trench coat falling from his frame, and look of absolute uncertainty in his eyes.  
   
Jim focused on the word _hurt_. He’d known this moment would come, since the first time he stared into those warm brown eyes and willingly surrendered his heart. He hadn’t heard anything else. The thanks Spock bestowed for their years together and Jim’s undying support. The torture he had endured hiding his feelings for the uptown beauty despite the loyalty he held for the relationship that existed between the two men.  
   
“You’re more than a lover.”  
   
Those were the words he spoke. He considered Jim more than a lover and now he was reduced to a mere acquaintance.  
   
Prayer after prayer spilled from Spock’s lips in the hopes that someday Jim could and would grant him forgiveness for his transgressions.  
   
“Is it because she’s intelligent?”  
   
Jim was smart but Nyota’s genius wafted from her pores and drifted from her lips in elegant riddles that he would never conquer.  
   
He questioned Spock further, “Because she’s beautiful…”  
   
His voice faltered with the question, “A woman?” He had borne the brunt of Spock’s wrath inflicted because of the shame he felt in disappointing his father and mother. They had both been banned from Spock’s mother’s funeral because the senator felt their presence would taint his wife’s memory. _Finally,_ thefather could experience a moment of pride when his eyes landed on his son and the beautiful feminine body that would grace his arm and fill the familial home with grandchildren.  
   
“No.” Spock’s voice came out in a rasp, “It’s because she doesn’t need me.”  
   
That was a blow to Jim’s ego and a contradiction of the facts.  
   
Yes, Jim would admit to emotional neediness and the demand for excessive reassurance. In his mind, Spock was just as much to blame; continuously he shut Jim out with beautifully erected walls that hid the aristocrat’s son’s heart from the common man. It was unnecessary protection; leaving Jim sentenced to the role of stranger unable to move closer.  
   
He was forced to dig and question the feelings that existed between the two. Wasting countless hours recalling first meetings, stolen touches, and fevered couplings became necessity. Without that acknowledgement, Jim had _nothing,_ but a string of dreams produced by an overactive imagination.  
   
Spock’s love had never belonged to him.  
   
“I’m sorry.” Spock’s mannerisms were like those of a little boy terrified of offending an already angry parent.  
   
“Irrelevant.” Jim yelled, his mind fighting to process what sparked the half hearted apology. “What are you so sorry for?”  
   
Spock whispered, “Everything.”  
   
“You’re a piece of shit.”  
   
The sight of him made Jim ill. Spock bristled under the words and Jim’s anger grew.  
   
“‘Deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance’.”  
   
Always the cold hearted scholar, Jim thought and he couldn’t help but laugh, “You’re standing there quoting Wilde.” He snatched his coat from a hanger in the hall closet, “How does that work exactly? I’m ripping your heart from your chest, but I’ll use a witty, self – depreciating quote to ease the pain of delivery.”  
   
“I fell in love with her Jim, I’m…”  
   
He couldn’t stand to listen to another word.  
   
“There’s always a choice: a moment where you debate the _logic_ of your decision – repercussions – consequences. _You_ thought only of yourself.”  
   
Spock positioned himself in front of the door, poorly attempting to block Jim’s departure, “It’s not safe out there…alone.”  
   
“Oh and it’s safe in here – alone – watching you pile lie on top of filthy lie. I don’t need you. I don’t want you. I don’t love you. I hope you’re happy.”  
   
Spock’s eyes lowered in response to Jim’s words. His head quickly followed, “I love you. I will always love you.”  
   
“You loved me fucking you. I amuse you but I bore you. You’ll miss me. She won’t love you the way I did.”  
   
With one finger Jim pushed Spock from his perch. He walked into the night and out of the man’s life.  
 

***

   
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to kiss Leonard McCoy.  
   
The man was all broad shoulders, strong lines, firm hands, and a complicated mess of masculinity that pulled you under and refused to let go. Still McCoy didn’t want Jim. This kisses and gropes that had transpired between them were purely about retribution.  
   
The two had stumbled into Jim’s office behind the bar. There had been talk, perverted musings about the feel of Jim’s come on his tongue. It was the liquor. McCoy was no more gay or bi-curious than he was the first time they met. What he was…sexually frustrated and completely inebriated. He’d fuck anything that spread for him at this stage of the game.  
   
It was a rare opportunity a chance for Jim to indulge in forbidden fruits while hurting the ones who had single handedly broken his heart. He ignored the familiar comfort of a body pressed against his. The known and enjoyed brush of the other man’s bulge against the one he surely sported. He couldn’t resist reaching for the thick mass of brown hair but his mind lingered and sleek and severe haircut of his former lover.  
   
“I’m not your revenge fuck.” Jim pushed the man away, ignoring the hardness in his pants, the strain of his nipples against his shirt. Leonard McCoy loved his wife. Jim still loved Spock. This whole exchange was useless.  
   
“Talk to me.” McCoy’s voice floated over Jim’s shoulder to his ear.  
   
“I am.” He answered as he focused his energy on calming the overwhelming sensations filling his body.  
   
“Talk to me in real life. I know who you are. I love you. I love everything about you that hurts.” McCoy’s resolve crumbled and he slid to floor in tears.  
   
Jim stared at the man long and hard before he spoke, “Real talk – real life – you love your wife. She’s a bitch for leaving you, but fucking me, drinking yourself into oblivion in this shit hole won’t bring her back.”  
   
“You feel the same; I know you feel the same.”  
   
It didn’t matter that McCoy’s words were true, admitting that would open Jim up to pain he’d buried years before, “Do I.”  
   
“You talk about their lies and you are the biggest hypocrite around, all party boy, and false promises. Then you pull this shit. Admit it you’re miserable. Out of your mind, probably crying like some piss-ant baby in the middle of the night.” McCoy stood, eyes stretched in anger, and his finger pointed in Jim’s direction, “You’re right I love my wife. Flaws and fractured sense of worth included, she’s never been afraid to show me what she was really is. Who are you, Jim? What are you?”  
   
“The life of the motherfucking party.”  
   
Jim smiled. His mouth stretched from ear to ear. His eyes were bright with excitement, but his heart broke every second that the faux grin resided on his face.  
   
McCoy read him like a book, head shaking, mouth twisted as he retrieved his coat from the chair, “Now tell me something true.”  
   
“Lying is the most fun a guy can have without taking his clothes off, but it’s better if you do.”  
   
Jim studied the door long after it closed. Spock was no match for McCoy. The doctor would win Nyota back and send Jim’s heart back to its home, but would he still want the man who had crushed it without hesitation. 


	6. Chapter 6

VI.

 

“I hate this place,” Leonard McCoy stated emphatically as the hostess delivered him to the table where she waited.

 

Nyota was surprised that she’s missed his voice as much as his presence. All gruff laced with feigned anger, but she can hear the sincerity beneath it, the kindness that emanates from his pores.  She caught a quick glimpse of him before he settled across from her. His hair is shorter, jagged, well constructed layers that perfect the ruggedness of his face. A thin beard covered his jaw and she was unequivocally in love with the gray suit lining his frame. He had paired it with a black shirt, leaving a few buttons undone, and her mind and mouth immediately recalled the taste of his chest against her tongue. Nyota’s dress was only a few shades off from the color he was wearing. Her hair slicked back in a sleek ponytail. His smile was genuine and she remembered the dress was one of the final things he purchased before their separation.

 

“You look good, McCoy.”

 

He did. That was the truth.

 

He lowered his head and avoided her eyes. His voice was low when he spoke the words she had waited to hear; expected for him to say as soon as his eyes met hers that day.

 

“Come back.”

 

Two words and her heart fluttered. “You promised you wouldn’t.” He had; it had been her one rule for meeting in person to deliver the divorce papers.

 

There was urgency in his plea. “Come back.”

 

Nyota smoothed down her dress and ran her fingers through the hair hanging down her back. “How’s work?”

 

“Work’s shit…life’s shit…just come home.” McCoy found his inner courage and lifted his head, the corners of lips twisted into a wry grin, “How ‘bout a drink?”

 

He was irresistible and he knew it. “Sure.”

 

Nyota’s hand slipped into her bag. She pulled out the envelope, and slid it across the table. There was some hesitation in his next move. He motioned for a waiter, fidgeted with the menu. He did everything but touch the papers that sat between them.

 

“You hungry?” He thumbed through the leather-bound pages before slamming the binder down on the table before speaking. “I love you, please come back.”

 

“No Leonard, it’s better this way.” Nyota swallowed the lump in her throat and returned to her bag for a pen that she placed on top of the envelope. She slid the documents closer and said, “Sign.”

 

“Better…it’s not better for me. Maybe it’s better for you.” His voice elevated with every word. He paused, allowing the audience’s attention to drift elsewhere. “I’m not signing those damn papers. I don’t want this. I want you.”

 

“I’m not coming back.” She flinched when he grabbed her hand. Cursed her body for accepting the comfort he offered; hated that her fingers still remembered the lines on his palm. “Give me back my hand.” He loosened his grip and she returned her hand to her lap.

 

Leonard read the papers. “Irreconcilable differences. Bullshit.”

 

The crowd’s attention fell on them again.

 

“Stop putting on a show Leonard McCoy and sign the fucking papers,” She declared through clenched teeth.

 

“I’ll sign your precious papers on one condition. We skip all these formalities, take a little trip to my new office, and christen the exam room with our final fuck.”

 

Nyota couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Are you insane?”

 

“Just obsessed. I can’t get over you. I think you owe me, for playing the role of loyal wife all the time while you were riding another man’s dick.”

 

She stood to leave forgetting her mission and the promises made to Spock. McCoy’s chair scraped the floor and he joined her in the middle of the restaurant to finish their display. She felt her soon to be ex’s body mold around her, the familiar caress of his lips on the shell of her ear. “One last time, Nyota. You be my whore, and in return I’ll sign your papers. You do this and happily ever after is right around the corner.” He kissed her cheek. “Now what about that drink…dirty martini, extra olives, right?”

 

Nyota found him at the bar. “I’m doing this because I feel guilty, and I because I pity you. You know that, don’t you?”

 

“Of course darlin’.” He held the glass out for her.

 

She folded her arms against her chest.

 

“Make you feel like a man?”

 

McCoy finished his shot of bourbon and sipped Nyota’s martini.

 

“Ask me after the first nut.”

 

Exasperated, Nyota walked out and McCoy quickly followed.

 

McCoy knew Nyota’s body well; the place on the small of her back that made her shiver, and the spot on her inner thigh that she demanded be kissed before his tongue separated her folds and found its way inside. She came as soon as his mouth found her clit. The second orgasm ripped through her when his middle fingers fucked her to completion. There was no turning back. Her body accepted everything he had to give. She folded under his authority.

 

When she tried to drift lower to take him in her mouth, he refused, pulled her on his lap, and watched in silence as she rode and rocked him to an explosion of epic proportions.

 

“We fit, Nyota, you can’t deny that.”

 

She kissed him, long and hard. His words birthed confusion.

 

He zipped her dress and fastened the clasp of her shoes. His finger traced the simple diamond-encrusted band she still wore on her left hand.

 

“You gonna tell him?”

 

She turned her back and fussed with her hair. “I don’t know.”

 

“Honesty is the best policy, Mrs. McCoy.”

 

Nyota wiped the tears filling her eyes before she turned to face her husband. She unfolded the papers from the envelope and placed the pen on top.

 

“Sign.”

 

Without another word, McCoy did as he was told.

 

***

 

 

Nyota was patient as she waited for Sarek to answer the door. It was close to eight in the evening. She had missed the reception for the University Hospital’s pediatric cancer wing named after Amanda. Her cell was warm in her hand, several missed calls and texts from Spock displayed on the screen. She was gracious and demure when she entered the senator’s home.

 

Disapproval washed over Sarek’s face. “Spock’s in the study.” His voice was stern and devoid of warmth. “You were expected three hours ago Mrs. McCoy.”

 

She held up the papers in hand seeking absolution from Spock’s father.

 

“My meeting ran longer than I anticipated.”

 

The man disappeared in the opposite direction. Nyota took a deep breath and rushed down the hall. She found Spock, hands folded under his chin, and his nose buried in a book.

 

“Good evening.”

 

He moved gracefully as his head rose and his eyes met hers. “Good evening, Nyota.”

 

“I’m sorry.” She rushed to the desk and sat on the corner. Her hand reached for his face.

 

“What happened? I was concerned. I know that Leonard can be emotional and somewhat unstable when it comes to you.”

 

Confession was on the tip of her tongue, instead she told an altered version of the truth. “Traffic…debates…insults…and the ongoing battle of getting him to sign the divorce papers.” Nyota slid from the desk to Spock’s lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Everything is better now.”

 

His knuckles brushed the swell of her cheek. “You look flushed and your heart is beating so fast.”

 

Nyota stood and averted her gaze to the small bar. “I’m just thirsty.”

 

Spock crossed the room in a few strides and broke the seal on a bottle of water. She listened as the liquid poured over the ice. Realization hit him moments later and when he turned to face her, denial was no longer an option, but she fought valiantly.

 

“How did everything go?”

 

She could hear the underlying accusation in his voice.

 

“Fine.”

 

He moved closer with the glass in hand, urging her to drink.

 

“You met for cocktails…an early dinner.”

 

She drank, ignoring the water that escaped from the corner of her mouth. “Yes.”

 

He pushed further, “And.”

 

Nyota shrugged her shoulders and wiped the sweat from her brow. “And now I’m here.”

 

“Surely you don’t expect me to believe that, Nyota. It’s been months since you have seen one another. You were frightened. Uncertain of the pressure he would place on you for reconciliation. Now you expect me to accept that the two of you reminisced all afternoon and he signed the papers to end his marriage.”

 

“I told you, there were insults and arguments, but Len did what was for the best.”

 

She had slipped. In the past months Nyota had referred to her estranged husband as McCoy or Leonard, never had she used his nickname in her discussions with Spock.

 

“How is _Len_?”

 

Nyota placed her glass on the desk and reached for Spock’s hands and squeezed. “I love you, can’t you feel that? Don’t be angry that I saw him.”

 

“Nyota, I am far from angry.” He bent to kiss her, his voice falling to a seductive whisper, “Congratulations, Ms. Uhura.” His lips were soft and the kiss firm. “Give me a moment and then we will leave.”

 

Her breathing returned to a steady rate. Spock was only jealous; he did not suspect anything more than a heated conversation between exes. She cleared her phone, deleting the message from Leonard without reading. She checked her makeup in the mirror unaware of Spock’s return to the room.

 

“You slept with him, didn’t you?”

 

The question caught her off guard and Nyota could only nod. “Please…just…”

 

“Why not lie, Nyota?”

 

“Truth that was what we promised each other.”

 

“I do not want the truth.” The light drained from his eyes. “Are you testing me?”

 

She cried, “No.” Nyota grabbed his face. “Please don’t stop loving me. It was stupid. I gave him nothing important.”

 

“All I can see is him all over you.” Spock snatched Nyota’s hands from his face. “I almost admire him.”

 

“Stop it. I did this for us. You would have done the same thing if it were Jim.”

 

Spock spun eyes full of angry passion. “Do not speak his name. He would never…” He closed his eyes. “I think you enjoyed it.”

 

“Fuck you. No one is good enough for _you_. Perfection personified that’s what you think you are.”

 

“This is not about me. You did enjoy it. The strange familiarity…comfort in his touch…I guess I will never know unless I ask him.”

 

Her voice escalated. “Then why don’t you.”

 

“Maybe I will.”

 

Spock walked from the room with determination in his stride and Nyota sat in deafening silence reconciled herself to the only decision that should be made.


	7. Chapter 7

VII.

 

Nyota arrived on McCoy’s doorstep a few days after their tryst in his pristine new office. There was no interrogation. He welcomed her, arms open wide, eyes full of concern, and his heart overflowing with love.

 

Leonard McCoy was a pessimist by nature. Yet when she crossed the threshold and buried her face in his chest and began to cry, something strangely resembling hope bubbled to the surface. He cursed the negative thoughts he’d entertained and renounced the hateful whispers he’d uttered against his wife’s name.

 

Nyota was damaged goods. Hell they both were. Nyota and McCoy were halves to a whole comprised of a myriad of negative experiences and bevy shady histories. He knew going into their union that it wasn’t going to be easy, and instead of countering Spock’s attentions from their inception, McCoy let Nyota walk away. He cried incessantly over a situation that could have been avoided. He entertained the thought of revenge with the first kiss Jim placed on his lips. It was useless; McCoy’s heart, body, and soul only wanted _her_.

 

He may have had Jim Kirk to thank for their meeting, but this reunion was all orchestrated by his own hand.

 

The thought of what was _his_ , sharing a bed with another man made Leonard McCoy violently ill. Surely if Spock professed even a fraction of that depth of affection for Nyota, then the knowledge of what transpired between husband and wife would indubitably drive the man insane. Or, at the very least, create an irreparable wedge between the star-crossed lovers that would send Nyota back where she belonged.

 

McCoy’s eyes landed on the face of the woman sobbing in his arms. Her body shook with every hiccup and interruption of breath. She searched his face for forgiveness. He had none to give.

 

Nyota’s cheeks were stained with tears and her eyes heavy with unshed water. “I’m so sorry I hurt you.” Her words were useless, a Band – Aid on a wound desperately in need of stitches. Begrudgingly he accepted her guilt-induced apology. The doctor leveled the lightest of kisses to the tip of her nose.

 

He didn’t want sympathy or pity from her.

 

McCoy smoothed the wild strands of Nyota’s hair. “Hush darlin’.” He filled the accompanying brush of his lips with the promise that one day he would no longer associate her touch with pain.

 

Nyota’s arms tightened around his waist. “Happy birthday.”

 

He’d nearly forgotten the significance of the day. A fitting present, the return of the life he’d wanted. He didn’t fight her when she broke their embrace, her attention focused on the bottle of _Glenfiddich_. Nyota’s finger traced the full body of the bottle. She stroked the small card in front of it, recognizing the script.

 

“Jim?”

 

He nodded. “A gift from a friend.”

 

She hesitated before speaking, considering the depth of the pending conversation. “That was… sweet.”

 

He groaned. The inevitable question was balanced on her tongue and yearning to be expelled from her lips.

 

“Did…”

 

Unable to stand neither another moment nor an additional veiled accusation, McCoy attacked. “Does it really matter, Nyota?” He watched her tremble in response to the harshness of his tone.

 

Wasn’t she the same woman who had walked out on him, forgetting their vows while she succumbed to the desires of her flesh? Fuck the adulteress. Screw the cold blooded femme fatale that left him heartbroken and alone. McCoy watched as Nyota blinked rapidly forcing her tears to return to the ducts buried behind her eyes. She regained her composure quickly, returning to typical upper class form; back straight and her arms elegantly folded across her chest.

 

“Yes, it does.”

 

Nyota’s lips formed a severe line, but her eyes were wide and expressive as she eagerly anticipated his answer. Surprisingly her bluntness and brief display of emotion comforted him. He closed the space between them, held her face in his hands. “All I’ve ever wanted is you.”

 

Something registered on Nyota’s face and a wave of calm rushed over the doctor. It was what she needed to hear and a realization he needed to face. As much as he wanted revenge he’d never wish the trials he’d endured on anyone.

 

Not even the living and breathing source of that pain.

 

***

 

 

 

Life went on.

 

A semblance of happiness returned to the McCoy household. They laughed, loved, and discussed the possibility of children in their future. Nyota stopped trying to change him and he ceased apologizing for his meager upbringing. Compromise became a way of life for them. The doctor no longer held his forgiveness hostage, it was his wife’s to receive, free of conditions.

 

Nyota was on a healthy road to recovery. The number of pill bottles in their medicine cabinet decreased. Her penchant for smooth and expensive wines diminished. Yet, the man couldn’t help but wonder where she spent the hours they were apart. Did she take phone calls from her former lover? Were flirtatious smiles exchanged over warm cups of coffee?

 

McCoy watched and waited. His gaze drifted over his shoulder on cloudy afternoons spent walking hand in hand with his wife along the city’s streets. He knew the time of Spock’s appearance would soon come. A jilted lover with red rimmed eyes, the shreds of the man’s heart stitched on his sleeve for the world to see. All while professions of love billowed from a tongue weary and tired from long nights travailing in fruitless prayers.

 

Time passed, days grew longer; McCoy stopped anticipating the confrontation, pushed the inevitable disaster from his mind and enjoyed the reconciliation with his wife. The tension in the doctor’s shoulders subsided until the day he lifted his eyes from the screen of the monitor on his desk and found Spock’s frame filling his doorway.

 

The city had been buried under a cover of gray for over a week. Rain fell steadily from the sky, promising a spring filled with lush green grass and brightly colored flowers. It was Wednesday, the heaviest day on his schedule. Patients didn’t begin to arrive until after nine, McCoy heard the buzzer, the brief melee between his receptionist and a familiar monotone voice. Spock’s water logged steps squished and squeaked along the hall as he travailed to the doctor’s office. He looked like shit, hair matted to his head, jacket wrinkled, and a thin layer of stubble gracing his chin.

 

“I need Nyota back.”

 

Smirking, McCoy sat back in his chair, glancing at the clock; he knew he had fifteen minutes before his first appointment. He’d humor the aristocrat, briefly. The battle had already been won, there was no way he would entertain the thought of his losing his wife again.

 

“The lady has made her choice.”

 

Spock moved closer, “We never meant to make you suffer.” He dropped his briefcase, “I owe you an apology.”

 

McCoy noted that while disheveled and unkempt the man still held on tightly to the power carried in the syllables and vowels of his last name, he expected the doctor to back to gracefully and honor his demands.

 

“Aren’t you the gentleman, embracing accountability and accepting your callous behavior,” McCoy eased from the chair and walked around his desk, “That doesn’t sound like a fucking apology to these ears?”

 

“Doctor McCoy, I apologize.” Spock paused staring him in the face. “If you love her, you’ll let her go. You’ll let Nyota be happy.”

 

McCoy smiled, “You’re an idiot. She doesn’t want to happy…she wants to be loved. She wants to be accepted. She wants someone who really sees her.”

 

Spock pounded his chest before speaking, “I make her happy.”

 

McCoy didn’t even miss a beat. “You don’t even know her.” He infringed upon the man’s personal space, “To you, she’s a doll that you dress up and carry around like the lost little boy you are.”

 

McCoy’s words forged their way deeper, their effects evident in the man’s demeanor.

 

Spock’s eyes glistened but no tears fell. “I love her.”

 

“Boo hoo. So do I, you’ll have to try harder.”

 

The buzz of the intercom interrupted their face off. The doctor waited for the receptionist to relay the information from lab before turning his attention back to his esteemed guest.

 

“Guilt is the only reason Nyota returned to you. She couldn’t bear your suffering, your calls in the middle of the night, and your idle threats.” A rush of confidence filled Spock, “You love her like a dog loves his owner.”

 

“And that owner rewards the dog for its loyalty and affection.” McCoy returned to his seat. “I never threatened Nyota, I just asked for her to come home.”

 

Spock moved around the desk, an air of desperation creeping into his mannerisms. “You will hurt her with your disapproving glares and poor bedside manner. You’ve yet to forgive her.”

 

Maybe he would hurt her and it was possible that his heart would know pain again as a result of his wife’s actions, but he had forgiven her. He would do it again without question, if that’s what it meant for the survival of the love that lived between them.

 

“I have forgiven her. Without forgiveness, we’re savages. You’re drowning without her Spock.”

 

The doctor returned his attention to the screen and ignored the look of disdain on Spock’s face.

 

“Without me there would be no Mr. and Mrs. McCoy.”

 

McCoy paused, glancing at the man beside his desk, “Yeah thanks for that. Jim wanted so badly to keep you that he arranged a match made in heaven.”

 

“Your marriage is a sham!”

 

A full bellied laugh emerged from McCoy’s mouth, “That is the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time.” He extended a finger in Spock’s direction, “Try this on…she never sent the divorce papers to her lawyer.” Spock’s face contorted with the revelation, “That’s right, seven nights she laid beside you, contemplating her escape, knowing, lying, waiting patiently to get back to me, her beloved husband.” He ignored the receptionist’s attempts at a second interruption. “To you I may be common, low rent, of less than noble blood, but I am what Nyota, _my_ wife has chosen, and we must respect what she wants.” McCoy picked up the receiver, “Five minutes, Christine.” He returned the phone to the cradle. “You go near her again and I will fucking kill you.”

 

“How could she love you? You are an animal.”

 

McCoy jumped from his seat, wrapping his hands around Spock’s collar and tightening his grip. He wanted so badly to drain the life from the self centered asshole, but he decided against it. The loss of Nyota would hurt him more than death. “What are you, mommy and daddy’s precious baby boy?”

 

He released him, pushing the man from his space. Spock recoiled and launched a verbal attack of his own.

 

“You think love is simple.” He pushed the journals, files, and loose papers from the doctor’s desk, yelling as they tumbled to the floor. “The heart is not a diagram drawn in black and white on the pages of your books.”

 

“Have you ever seen the human heart? It looks like a fist wrapped in blood!” McCoy held his hand up before Spock’s face, “Go fuck yourself.”

 

The doctor removed his white coat from the back of the door and eased his arms carefully into the sleeves.

 

“She hates you.” Spock’s words failed to hurt McCoy. The victory in this battle clearly belonged to the doctor.

 

“And she pities you and your repressed sexuality.” McCoy’s voice fell to a whisper as he opened the door, “Its over. Move on. Find Jim. Never darken my door again.”

 

A shadow of a long forgotten emotion danced across Spock’s face with the mention of his former lover’s name.

 

His voice was hollow as he spoke, “When did you see Jim?”

 

“Now who’s got a heap of questions and regrets?” McCoy straightened the collar of his jacket, “You really fucked that relationship up too…dumbass still loves you.” The doctor pressed further, “You were so blinded by your grandeurs of love; you didn’t see what you had right in front of you. Jim didn’t want to be a muse or inspiration for your poorly written expose. He wanted to be loved.”

 

The pillar of perfection did feel. McCoy watched as a solitary tear snaked a path down Spock’s cheek.

 

“Sit down.” The doctor tossed a box of tissue at the man. “Take some free advice, find him, apologize, move on with the life you had.”

 

Spock’s eyes were vacant. “He’d never have me.”

 

“Stop with the bitchin’ and moanin’, how do you know unless you try?”

 

“I don’t know how to find him.”

 

McCoy grabbed a prescription pad from his desk and scribbled down an address, “He owns an old club on the west side. I’ve seen him a few times. Almost fucked him once, but that’s not my thing. So, I didn’t violate your precious piece of ass.” He shoved the paper in Spock’s direction, “I really do have patients to see.”

 

Spock accepted the crumpled stationary before standing, “Of course.”

 

“You should really leave my wife alone.”

 

Spock took small, measured steps to the exit.

 

“I know. I’m sorry. Thank you.”

 

“For what?” McCoy met the man at the door.

 

“Your kindness.”

 

Despite Spock’s sincerity, McCoy still found his words amusing. “I am kind. I’ll bill you for my time.” Spock was half way out the door when the doctor delivered his final blow, “Oh by the way, Jim really does have a sweet mouth and a delicious tongue, sorry for telling you…I’m just not big enough to forgive you.”


	8. Chapter 8

VIII.

 

 _Find Jim…_

 

That’s what the doctor had prescribed. It wasn’t the same sleazy establishment Spock entered years before. The chairs were leather, the room dark, and the music seductive. His eyes drifted from patron to patron, faces he recognized from the building that held his father’s office; men of distinction captivated by the youth and energy possessed by the half naked boys gyrating before them.

 

His eyes landed on Jim in the middle of it all; a smile brimming on his lips but a familiar emptiness residing in his eyes. Jim’s gaze landed on Spock’s face and he felt the warmth spread throughout his body. It was déjà vu, reminiscent of the day the two men first met. He hoped that his presence would be apology enough for his former lover and friend. Spock was frozen by the bar, watching as Jim stood and quickly closed the distance between them.

 

“Hello stranger.”

 

Jim’s greeting embraced him, dissolving the bitterness and fear that had formed around his heart.

 

“Remember how we met?”

 

Spock didn’t recognize the uncertainty as he took a turn with Jim’s well played game attempting to erase the distance that the imprudence of his past actions had created. His lids lowered as he felt fingers thread in the hair at the nape of his neck, “Right now I just want to forget how you broke my heart.”

 

It was enough for the moment, Spock was willing to forget, and Jim was able to forgive. Together they moved in, settling into a small brownstone a few blocks from where they were initially introduced. There was no discussion of Nyota, Sarek, or the past.

 

Until that night…

 

“Why?” Jim’s voice bounced off the walls of the bedroom they shared.

 

Spock hesitated before answering. “I love you; we don’t have to have this discussion.” Yes he was full of fear, uncomfortable with where the course of the conversation would leave his fragile relationship with Jim. The bed shifted as he stood and walked to the window.

 

“You use that almost like an excuse, do mean it? Do you understand the weight that statement holds?”

 

“Do you not trust me Jim?”

 

“Love is an action word Spock, you left me, you were living with someone else, and that doesn’t feel like love. I can only trust you to hurt me.”

 

Jim’s voice didn’t elevate above a whisper.

 

“I am sorry; it was never my intention…”

 

“An apology doesn’t excuse your actions.”

 

“I need a bottle of water, hold that thought.” Spock escaped the tenseness of the situation. He inhaled and exhaled, counting his steps as he made his way down the hall and to the stainless steel refrigerator in the kitchen. He grabbed the remaining half of the apple pie from dessert, two forks, and a bottle of Fiji water. When he returned to the bedroom, Jim was up and partially dressed.

 

Spock’s heart sunk with the sight. “Where are you going?”

 

“You are incapable of delivering any lines not laced in bullshit, even Nyota admitted she was a bitch and she fucked up when she left McCoy for whatever the two of you had, and you sit hoping that I forget all the shit you pulled.” Jim yanked the shirt over his head, “I don’t love you anymore.”

 

The pie, forks, and water fell from Spock’s hands. “Since when?”

 

“Now…just now.”

 

Spock looked on helplessly as Jim shoved his feet into his shoes. “I can’t live with the lies.” No words would come in response to Jim’s statement. “I can’t wait for you to leave again.”

 

“Jim, I’m not leaving.”

 

Jim paused, “I wanted to fuck McCoy.” Spock cringed. “I needed to see _that_ look on your face. He couldn’t do it. He loved his wife too damn much. I don’t feel that for you.”

 

His heart pounded against his ribs as he recalled that day in the doctor’s office. “He told me.”

 

Jim looked on curiously. “Why did he tell you?”

 

“Because he wanted this to happen.”

 

“Do you accept responsibility for anything?” The man walked towards Spock, stepping over the mess in the middle of the floor. “I would have loved you…forever. I’ll sleep at the club tonight, in the morning, you need to be gone.”

 

Spock reached for Jim, tugging at his arm, “Please, Jim, talk to me. Don’t do this.”

 

Jim’s blue eyes burned with rage, “I am talking. Fuck off.”

 

Spock tried to pull him into an embrace, he was drowning. “I am sorry. You misunderstand. I didn’t mean to.”

 

Jim shirked his touch. “Yes you did. Remember, there’s always a choice. That moment…you made your decision. She left you and here we stand.”

 

“I love you.” Spock moved closer, still set on trying to alleviate the nasty confrontation building between him and Jim.

 

The man countered. Where.”

 

He responded puzzled. “What?”

 

“Show me! Where is this love? I…can’t see it, I can’t touch it. I can’t feel it. I hear it, flowing from your mouth in insincere words, but I can’t do anything with that.”

 

“Please.”

 

“Get the hell out. Forget the morning. Leave now.” Jim spit in his face. “Take your lame dick and your tear stained pillow and get out of my life.”

 

Spock balled of his fist and charged towards Jim. He stopped before his hand connected with the man’s nose.

 

“Impotent bastard, you won’t even finish a fight.” Jim laughed, taunting Spock, “Hit me. That’s what you want. Hit me, daddy’s boy.”

 

The punch was hard and firm. He felt the bones in Jim’s jaw as the crunched under the force of his hand. There was nothing left to say. Spock gathered what he could carry in two hands and walked out the door.

 

***

 

Spock never liked spring.

 

The increased pollen count, intensity of the varying colors of the flowers lining the sidewalks, or the sound of happiness that drifted in the air. There are children at play, lovers in careless abandonment, or people simply at peace.

 

Daily he sat silently in the park, for a glimpse of them. On Mondays, the doctor picked up his daughter from school. She’d recently joined her father and stepmother in the city after her mother remarried. She always bolted from the door and jumped right into daddy’s arms.

 

Tuesdays and Thursdays were reserved for Nyota. The little girl was more somber, eyes still bright, but she always waited for a cue or sign from her father’s new wife on how to proceed. As time passed and the comfort between the two deepened, Nyota often received the same greeting. Regret filled him when he noticed the expansion in the woman’s waistline and the way the little girl’s fingers reached for the bump.

 

Then there were the rare Fridays, when a stranger with tousled golden brown hair lingered around the steps, and offered his hand to the doctor’s daughter. Twin smiles mirrored their faces, their laughter echoed across the street and to the park bench where Spock sat alone.

 

A stranger sentenced forever to be on the outside looking in.

 

 


End file.
